


Premonition

by reimgho



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst?, Buckle up, F/M, I will add characters as I go, also! when I say timeline im meaning alternate timelines within the plot, and it's valla that's important lmao, and theres about eight, anyway, chrobin is delayed and doesn't happen right off the bat, fates is in this but barely andnot until a while later, grima's gonna turn the car around if I put another timeline, haaaaha, hoshido and nohr are mentioned like three times, its like an au in an au, originally it was five, please don't get attached to morgan, so many timelines in this, then i recounted and fixed some loopholes, this is on hold as i rewrite it lmao, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reimgho/pseuds/reimgho
Summary: Goodbye, Robin.> an au in which grima had successfully possessed robin before meeting chrom.





	1. mother of all evil

The smell of a burning house. The cacophony of charred wood breaking and the broken framework of a place once called home. Metal meeting metal; metal meeting flesh. The screams of the powerless, the vulnerable, as they watch everything they loved and owned being devastated. A scarlet red adorning the sands of pathways that used to be walked upon, the people who used to run happily on these roads now lie there, cold and lifeless. The sweet laughter of bloodthirsty, gold-lusting thieves as they pillaged innocent lives, only caring about the current moment, not the consequences.

A small chuckle escaped a lone female figure, of whom was watching the destruction take fold from a small hillside, a ways from the pillaging. If there were but one word to describe the scene in front of her, the chaos in front of her, beautiful would be the most gracious fit. No one needed to agree, of course, but there was a certain charm with how chaos gracefully corrupted everything it touched, especially when it came to the mind of humans. A soft breeze stroked the silver tips of the figure's hair, but it bore the indescribable stench of man. A man the figure recognized.

"Lord Grima?" He questioned.

As expected, the moment she had shown up, loyal followers of the Grimleal flocked to see their god. After the long 1000 years since being sealed away, she had reappeared in a familiar and powerful form, attained by possessing the perfect human vessel. Quickly, Grima was placed at the headpiece of the following alongside the sect's leader, Validar. He was extremely useful and the Grimleal looked to him as a leader, meaning they would carry through his instructions. Grima herself disliked interacting with the followers, and preferred Validar to take care of internal and insignificant affairs, though she was careful not to put too much faith in the humans. Doing so would lead to her own destruction, but this distance gave her a formidable reputation as 'Lord Grima'. 

"Validar. What's the news?"

"My Lord, we have gained new allies in Valm. They will be joining you here in Plegia in about a weeks time." He bowed deeply with a smile on his face, "Surely, this pleases you."

The Fell Dragon hummed in approval, watchful eyes still focusing solely on the burning village. Valm, to her knowledge, was a strong country that had fallen into various, smaller factions who aimed for the Valmese throne. Like Ylisse, they were mostly followers of Naga, a wretch of a Divine Dragon, but recently more of these Naga followers turned to Grima.

' _They know how to pick the winning side, at least._ ' she thought, ' _A human's instinct is quite hell-bent on survival, though it won't save any of them in the end._ '

All that she wanted was destruction of not just humanity, but the world. To see not only this small village burn, but to see the map of the world up in flames. She wanted to be the last thing remaining in this world, then move on. No creature, much less any human, should be alive after her desire is fulfilled.

She tired of watching the small village burn; it was a speck of dust compared to what she truly wanted to achieve. Swiftly she turned around from the view, her cloak fluttering in the breeze as she walked past Validar. His head followed her as she walked by, obviously concerned with the direction of her actions, though Grima could care less about what he wanted.

"Find out more about the situation in Ylisse. More information is needed before I make any crucial decision…" She stopped, and cocked her head towards Validar with a menacing look in her eyes. "Do not disappoint me, Validar."

The words were left to linger as she disappeared down the hillside, leaving the rising shrills of joy and death to continue. Her eyelids dropped lustfully at the thought of blood. There was more to be spilt than just a town's and when everything but Ylisse was left? She smiled.

Ah, what a beautiful thing to imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grima!Robin is my love... I kinda wish you could play them, as if you were the bad guy all along (on purpose), perhaps in a DLC or something. But rip, that won't happen haha ;;


	2. past perceptions

The feeling of unconsciousness was not foreign to Grima since she occupied a human form, as much as the idea had -- and still -- perturbed her, however this was the first time she actually dreamt. As an ancient being, a god, she had no need to rest as animals did; she would need to consume more energy until she could move on. Though, truly, this concept of dreams was… interesting. To lose consciousness to dream was awkward and clunky, but ever since she was introduced to bearing a human shape, she couldn’t help but explore the idea. Human curiosity plagued her, to her distaste.

The landscape around her was a ruin and all shades of white, gray and red; bloodied bodies were covered with ash as if a great volcano had erupted and settled itself on the people below. It was obviously a remnant of a once large human city, the amount of dead giving that fact away. Past the many ruins of houses and buildings, her eye caught the large wreckage that resembled a castle of sorts. With the regret that pooled in Grima’s heart, also came the realization that she was not in control here. She tried to lift her arm to prove herself wrong, however, her body didn’t move.

Annoying.

Involuntarily the body began to move forwards, the crunch of dirt and blood crying out with every step. Grima, now the observer of this dream rather than its owner, looked as the head turned to survey the damage. Broken wooden frames, burnt scraps of homes and the terrified last glances of corpses is all that she saw as she observed. Why would she be dreaming this, she pondered. This bore no significance to her and she refused to accept that this was a future she was envisioning up. Well, her personally. Grima had no powers of clairvoyance, thus if this was indeed a future, it was not her power making it and gods, that made her frustrated. Were her dreams not her own to command?

As if ignoring her frustrations, the body had arrived at the castle. Grima had little interest in architecture, but something in her recognized and lamented at the structure. The feeling was foreign to Grima and fouled her mood even more. Though, she tried to focus on the surroundings instead. The body had already made it’s way to a courtyard and bodies littered the area. They were all wearing blue with broken spears and swords strewn about around them, though she noticed that none of the culprits of their deaths were around. No bodies of potential enemies, just a castle’s dead guards. Interesting.

More the castle was explored and it became more apparent that a huge battle did actually occur. Broken spears and weapons lay on the floor and the air smelt of rotten flesh and smoke, which led Grima to believe that the whole castle was in the same state as the courtyard seen earlier. Of course, she satisfied with the destruction around her, but it was one thing to see destruction than to be responsible for it. It had a different yearning, different desire. Surely, it was better to crush something and to feel it take its last breath, then be left to wonder the question of how. There is a certain type of rush when you strike the last blow yourself. It is powerful. It is exhilarating. It is divine.

A low growl was heard, and the body instinctively took an offensive stance. Its hands were outwards, lightning weaving itself around its fingers on its dominant hand and a tome in the other. It seems like the body was a mage of sorts, capable of wielding magic. Obviously a seasoned veteran with how quickly they responded.

From the corner of the hall they entered, a hunched over mass appeared. It appeared humanoid at any rate, but smelt distinctly of sun-dried flesh and ash, and had eyes that blazed a metallic red. Grima instantly recognized this as one of her undead creations, the ones she would revive from the corpses of the dead. But she had not done so since obtaining a vessel, thus leaving her to wonder at the placement of the undead. She had little time to wonder though, since the monster lunged itself at her, though with a crackle of thunder the undead was shocked and collapsed to the ground, disappearing into nothing.Typical for her creations, to disappear once defeated, though it was a better use for humans to be dead and gone than alive and here.

After the encounter, the body looked around, giving Grima the free leverage -- but also limited time -- to glance at the area. They seemed to be in… an alcove of sorts? It didn’t matter much really, but the thing that caught her eye was the proud banner that hung from the ceiling. It was the only one that was untouched by blood and dirt, and it was the one that ignited anger and realization in her.

The banner bore the Mark of Naga.

It disgusted her; why was her mark spread like a dog marking its territory? But in her anger came calculation. Truly, there was only one place that would adorn the Mark of Naga like a brand and rely on Naga enough to worship her in their castle so openly.

 _This castle, this area… this is Ylisse?_ The idea dawned on her. _This is… Ylisse’s destruction_?

She felt invigorated, inspired even but that did not last for long. The walls around them began to shake and rumble, tearing down the banner and the wall behind in. A hand shielded the body’s face -- and blocked Grima’s eyes -- from the rubble and dust that rushed to them. A large hum enveloped the space around them, which somehow ignited fear and fury within the body. She wondered what made the body so frightened and angry at the same time. Slowly and surely, the body lowered their hand and Grima was face to face with herself.

Obviously, her draconic form was far superior to her current, though admittedly she lacked the power to maintain it at this point in time. An unprecedented effect, but nothing drastic. 

A large head blocked out the natural light from outside and six, glowing red eyes replaced the sun. The Fell Dragon in all glory was very impressive to look at, if she said so herself, and it was obvious that this is what a destroyer, a bringer of chaos, a god should look like.

Just as quickly as when the monster had come, the body pulled out the tome and thunder cloaked the hand once again. The dragon chuckled at the act.

“Foolish one, have you forgotten what you’ve learned?” Her voice echoed and she felt it resonate through the castle walls. “You have nothing left to fight for.”

The tome crackled expectantly, the hand had begun to shake slightly. Was it out of fear? Anger?

"Everyone has perished, foolish one. Your reluctance has cost you the lives of your lover, your children, and your kingdom. Yet, you still hold your weapon? Is that admirable or pointless?"

Seemingly, as if without hesitation, the tome's burst of magic exploded at the dragon's face causing the great mass to recoil backward. Grima felt insulted and furious at the attack, but the dragon before her simply laughed loudly in response.

“Now you attempt to slay me? Haha, your actions are always steps too late, tactician!” With a loud flap of wings, the Fell Dragon pushed upwards and turned away from the body. Grima assumed she was getting ready to leave. “Your misery amuses me, foolish one, but will bore me soon, thus I take my leave. May you grieve for this wasteland and remember that it was your responsibility.”

At that point, there was a flash of bright light, and Grima opened her eyes to stare at an empty corridor in the Grimleal. She eyed her arm, now supporting her body against a wall, and pushed her body off. It seemed she wasn’t an observer, and back into reality. She scrunched her face in pain as a throb pulsed through her head. Did dreams usually become such burdensome things? She would have to question Validar about it later if she gathered enough interest in it. If her mind continued to ache, perhaps it would become necessary to solve the root of the problem.

Humans were fragile, that much was clear. It had been made clear from her first attempt to destroy Ylisse, or would it be her second? Her memory failed her, perhaps due to her headache, however, she knew that her presence here was… advantageous at best. After all, she had eliminated the most relevant and annoying fragment of hope that Ylisse had; Robin. 

That vermin was a hindrance even from where Grima originated from. She hailed from a different timeline, resorting to brute force and acts of stupidity to force her way to stop a band of children from retroactively stopping her. Thinking back, it was delirious to try and stop the children; if she had left them, rather than follow them and try to stop them, she would have gained the victory she sought in her own timeline. But no. she followed the children and fell into Naga’s trap. Ensnared like a fly in a web, she was caught and Robin had emerged victorious, which frustrated her to no end. However, Grima’s endgame had begun at that point. A fatal flaw on Robin’s part had occurred; she did not seal or kill Grima. Simply weakened her. Yes, it was humiliating to scramble away like larvae, but one doesn’t die of embarrassment. Grima had hidden so cleverly and she would call for the Grimleal to come to her, where she would consume their souls. A decade or two had passed until she had just enough power to travel to a different timeline. She refused to be trapped like a mouse in a hole, and decided that the best course of action would be let this Robin enjoy what she sowed; Grima could always come back to take everything away. However, it was clear that an obvious risk had presented itself to Grima. If she moved to a timeline, in the past where she had first tried to possess the tactician, there was a large percentage of failure. She would be close to replaying a timeline she had been wanting to escape from. Though a new fact presented itself; she knew what was to happen. If she does indeed fail in capturing Robin, she knew what would go wrong, in her servant’s and her own plans, and could foil the plans that Robin creates before she even made them. It was too risky, however, Grima had no choice. 

She learned that great risk often had great rewards.

The moment that she tried to possess Robin, a figure in a field now, she was instantly successful. Robin was a part of her and so was her heart, however, now Grima was weak. Her power was depleted from traveling and Robin had little to no power of her own, thus she needed to start from a scratch. It was no trouble as she wasn’t the brash and stupid dragon of before and she knew how to succeed. 

_It was a grand coincidence to obtain the vessel_ , straightening out her posture, _though even I know that most grand things have a catch_.

From around the corner of the hallway, a lower Grimleal member rushed out and as they saw her, bowed their heads.

“Lord Grima! Your humble servant is relaying a message from Lord Validar.” Their voice was trembling.

Grima sighed heavily. “Go on.” This was not helping her headache.

“Lord Validar has informed me that he has… found something… that would, I quote, ‘invoke a sense of interest’ within you, Lord Grima.” They edged backward, obviously wanting to escape. “He states that you would find the situation most interesting, my Lord.”

“I am in no mood to entertain _interesting things_ , fool.” Grima rubbed her temples and winced in both pain and frustration. Her throat boiled as if a flame was ready to engulf the Grimleal member. “However, inform Validar I will come as he so wishes. Though, do tell him that I have little patience and will not tolerate being beckoned like a dog. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

As the servant left, Grima sighed. Validar was a thorn in her side sometimes, no matter how useful of a purpose he had. She was not some simple pet to come at his beck and call, she was his master and God. Her mind flickered to the tactician, looking down at her and it filled her with anger. Like a coil, her rage was lashing out inside her stomach and she growled to herself as she followed human’s path.

 _I am above these humans_ , she thought as her boots clicked against the cobblestones, _I am the only thing that transcends me_.

And Validar tried to summon her like a dog? She had blessed his miserable and inadequate life with a mere glance, and as such should be begging for her attention. A grievous insult and disrespect towards her was committed by his actions, and thus, such insolence had to be punished. It was only correct that the master is the one that punishes their servants.

She moved through the corridors, following the stench of Validar. Her body was indeed human, but her instincts and superior senses pushed through the measly limits of the vessel. Though that did make things a little disgusting. The horrible smells here, the annoying pests' voices; her senses were flooded with disgusting things. Everything was the same. Validar, though, had a stench that made him instantly distinguishable. It was the smell of sulfur, burnt ink, and arrogance mixed in all together.

Grima's head perked up a little, a couple of shouts taking her attention. The boots she wore made a small protest as she changed directions, heading towards the shouts. As she grew closer to the voices, she realized that whoever was shouting was not actually being harmed. The lack of screaming in agony gave it away. She focused her mind on the noises.

“Stand still, kid, you ne--”

“Lovely to meet you, however, have you seen a woman?” Eugh, a child. Spawn of pests lead to even greater pests, she guessed. “Well, I mean a specific one, of course, one that that has white hair but she’s that old and still looks simply divine? I have her eyes if that’s any c--”

“Calm down men, are you blind?” Validar. She assumed this is what he thought was interesting. The man had vile tastes to match his vile personality. “Look at him -- surely you’ve recognized those robes?”

“Oh, thank you, the robes were a gift! Actually, a gift from the woman I’m looking for, what a coincidence, am I right?”

Grima deduced that as of now, the situation would get nowhere without her interference. The Grimleal were probably wondering how she would handle their problem. A jolt of annoyance ran through her, acting like a spark to start up her anger. She stepped into the open alcove and as the Grimleal saw her, they bowed. Her red eyes glanced over to the boy, analyzing him. Cerulean hair, gray eyes. A robe that matched her own, the purple and gold simply unmistakable. Gloves covered both hands, which was a touch that her own uniform did not share. A tome lay by his side, a thunder probably, due to its yellow cover. A sword was at his side, but it looked as if it was never used. He was on his knees, most likely since he was forced down by the Grimleal. She turned to face him, stepping towards him slowly.

"I am the wings of despair."

The boy's eyes widened a fraction.

"I am the breath of ruin."

At the boy, she pulled out a hand to raise his chin and leaned down.

"I am the Fell Dragon, Grima, so I command you, boy. Who are you?"

There was silence for a time, only the stirring of crickets and the crackling of fire could be heard. Whatever he said next would determine his fate, so he needed to be careful. Grima was indifferent towards him, but she was itching to kill something and this boy could give her the reason to destroy him.

"... Mother…..?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao, I feel as if I rushed this one, but I can't think of how to make it less so :////  
> But, woah! Second chapter!
> 
> EDIT: this chapter has been rewritten as of the 27th of the 6th, 2017


	3. blades and books

"Yeah! Get'em boys!"

Screams of enuthiasm melded with the sound of bronze swords striking armor, the crowd going wilder with every passing moment. The smell of sweat enveloped the area but went unheeded since the thrill of watching the bout overcame the senses. Loud cheers were almost deafening, but it made the entire atmosphere of the arena thicken with excitement.

Lucina gripped the Falchion tenderly. It would do her no good to not admit that she was nervous-- telltale signs of her palms sweating, arms tensing would deny her otherwise-- it would terrify her to admit any vulnerability. She had to be strong, of course, and being strong meant facing fears head-on, a grin on your face as you did so. Her mouth twitched upwards as if to attempt to mimic her own morals, though still her nervousness ate and clawed at her. She had been in a plenty fights, she had fought hundreds and hundreds of foes --human or not-- but this battle was special. No, this entire future was special, as she was determined not to make it a copy of her own. Her hand tightened around the Falchion, though now it felt fake and its obviously grandeur markings felt like a well-made forgery. Her presence here was fake, it wasn't meant to be, just like a sword that she had inherited along with a terrible and burdened sense of duty. A lump collected in her throat, a light shake of her head trying to dismiss the feeling of false.

_This is mine, it is real. It is different, but truly it's the same, just… of a different kind._

She nodded. The thought had eased some of her troubles, which seemed plenty at the moment, but nonetheless she was grateful for some peace. A hand of hers reached up to adjust her mask --a gift of a friend she was definitely seeing again-- and took the moment after to gaze at her surroundings. Scholars would often describe the Arena Ferox as a place where people thrived in battle and relished in the physical (and occasionally magical) prowess of the champions chosen. As far as she could tell, scholars had omitted a few details. The people didn't just thrive; the crowd craved the battle, loved how a blade would glimmer before the final strike, or how fire magic encompassed a man's final breath, to her distaste. It couldn't been more obvious that the Feroxi preferred battle over anything, including politics as Lucina had found out. 

_Battle to choose who wins a bet, battle to decide who rules for the year_. She huffed in disbelief, _It seems so ridiculous if you ask me._

But who was she to question tradition? She knew full well the Feroxi prided themselves with the achievements and prowess of their country. Interestingly enough, someone once close to her expressing how it wasn't power that wove the prideful nation together; it was survival. They hadn't braved fierce winter storms to roll down like dogs and die, or train until their muscles couldn't hold up their bones so that they could kneel before anyone, anything. Harsh colds were but a thing of annoyance, she was told. After all, farmers still grew crops and warriors still held their steel. Adversity was not something new, but something that built character, culture and pride. They were prepared to risk failure and they kept persevering, if fact, Lucina was almost certain that they would only stop when there were no more obstacles to overcome. The true Feroxi spirit. Four words were used to describe such a spirit, such will: 

Brave. Powerful. Sturdy. Resistant.

She close her eyes and exhaled deeply. The Feroxi spirit was something she admired, and something she desperately needed. How else could she prevent devastation? If she couldn't be brave, if she couldn't be powerful, sturdy or resistant? Her hands shook, her fears became to circle her like wolves, like beasts, like monsters. No, no, no, no, not now, not now! Images began to flood her vision and flashed so suddenly, quickly, quickly, flashes of blue and red, fire and ashes and dark cloud looming over the horizon blotting out the sun--

Oh, she remembered it all too well.

Screams of the dead, of the living. Red, red eyes of monsters which had dripping flesh and the smell of a city of corpses. Red, red eyes of things that should be dead, that locked onto her as a target when they should be closed in a grave. Her lip was cut from where she bit it, the taste of blood --hers, thankfully-- plaguing, no, distracting her from the pain of a Risen's misled spear which tried to nestle itself within her ankle. From a hole in a once perfect hall, smoke collected like a disease, filling her lungs with smoke and ash and misery. Even in pain, Lucina had the Falchion raised and ready to strike. A squelch of the blade reaching deep into the monster's heart escaped, and it disappeared into nothing making her feel empty, empty, empty! The ground was littered with a nations pride, tattered uniforms and looks of terror that was identical on each dead face. These were soldiers, her soldiers, ones who had trusted her and she repaid their trust with failure. If only she was strong, if only she actually had the goddamn strength to protect others! Red, red eyes peered at her mockingly, little one he said, they're dead he said, flashes of teeth and death and then a eye-blinding blueish white..!

Lucina's lungs painfully heaved at the sweet air, her hands gripping the hilt of her Falchion, rapidly stroking it's familiar grooves and edges. "It won't happen, it won't happen." She chanted softly to herself, hands still moving.

Things were different, definitely. Her very existence here was something that defied her fate, no, everything's fate. It was time to hope, not to dwell on a future that was going to be avoided. Red eyes should have stopped haunting her by the time she finished.

Though, her heart did beat with a sense of doubt. She had met her quarry once thus far, but they lacked a very important and prominent individual; Robin. It was somewhat a mystery-- no, she was kidding herself, she couldn't treat the information as if it was a mere triviality. Robin was crucial, was too crucial to be gone! She was saving lives, she organized the battles strategies, she was responsible for the Shepherds' victories, she was… 

She is too important to be gone, as if she never existed.

Lucina bit her lip, frustrated. From what she had gathered, she was to meet the Shepherds (rather, save her Aunt) first west of the capital, where Robin was supposed to be. It was truly upsetting, the lack of Robin, because if Robin wasn't there, where could she be? Scenarios began to flood into Lucina's mind, desperate to make a reason. Her information was wrong? Perhaps they were to see Robin at a later part? Her hand crawled up to the nape of her neck, fingernails tracing mindless circles. Then, a strike of fear had landed itself so neatly into her heart.

What if Robin was dead? Dead, never to see Ylisse. Dead, throat cut or guts open or arrows piercing her back. Dead, the threat of red eyes now more serious than ever or that a future was saved, just that she won't exist in it? That she was a lingering thought of a broken timeline? It was a terrifying thought, to think that Lucina wouldn't exist anymore, that she would fight so hard to be forgotten eventually.

"No, I am more than that, do not be selfish now, Lucina." Her voice was soft but definitely firm. "Robin can't be dead, she's made of tougher stuff. She's fine."

She will not disappear.

**_________________________________**

"Mother, I think you'll absolutely ravishing in this!" Morgan's awfully cheerful voice deterred Grima away from her work. "It has only the tiniest bits of copper, but the green bits suit you incredibly well!"

She sighed in distaste. After being labelled as the boy's mother, Grima had been a mix of utter shock and disgust (a being sprung forth from her? Disgusting, the Fell Dragon had thought) but Validar insisted that the boy could have some merit. If not, he had stated, you may cut him down, milord. His tone of curiosity had tinged a sort of hatred within Grima that seemed to come from deep in her heart, though truly, anything Validar had his eyes on seemed trivial and filthy.

It turned out that the boy -- Morgan, he called himself-- was adept at magic, the worn tome practically fizzled at his fingertips, and was decent at the blade (he claimed that his mother --Grima, no less-- had preferred the tome than the sword. Silently, she agreed). Validar was right; the boy had merit, but he also had so much potential. He could take on more enemies than a normal Grimleal, and even so he could grow to become stronger, fiercer. Strategically, he was the winning hand in every game if performed correctly. What could he become, she wondered, what do I need? Him, she realized. If she was going to get her perfect destruction without distractions, Morgan could prove to become extremely useful. So, she took him in.

Of course, she didn't expect the boy to be so godamned annoying.

"I only need this coat, boy. Leave the dresses to Validar, or dress up in your own spare time." Every time he spoke, it was disgustingly bright and optimistic and made her question why she even kept him around, why she bothered keeping him near her.

_He's useful. Let him grow, don't cut off a dog's fangs just because it doesn't listen to you yet._

A glance over to Morgan showed that he had put the armor --not a dress as she had originally thought-- though bore a lonesome look. She felt uncomfortable, surprisingly. As if his alone-ness was like a lump under her skin, though she huffed in disapproval. Obviously, she was uncomfortable because if he felt alone, how would he follow orders without doubt? It would turn over any use that she had for the boy. Grima's mouth twitched upward as she was content with her conclusion. Humans are such predictable things, she often thought as the actions of those around her were pathetically foreseeable. Not that she minded. If a beast saw fire, they would run away afraid of something so dangerous. Humans would need to sate their curiosity and if they are burned it is a mark of an adventurer (or an idiot). In many ways, it was very interesting to see how human's reacted between themselves, how they would throw themselves to a cause without really seeing any of the consequences, how they would bicker, fight, argue or sometimes delightfully kill those who had a whiff of suspicion and bad odour.

That, Grima decided, was the best thing about chaos; the human part of it. Chaos can be instigated by anything, by anyone, but no matter what it is the human that will be upset, afraid. If a bear destroyed a fence, eats a sheep or two, the farmer will be in a small chaos, but chaos nonetheless. If the fence belonged to a higher up, they would throw a fit of sorts and get the fence fixed and the sheep bought, but at the expense of others. The servants, if they rebel, if a tiny whisper of freedom had found it's way to their ear, a lord would be killedm. A rumor there, a fire here and chaos surely follows. Chaos starts as a rumour and crescendos into a glorious disaster, destruction becoming every man's second nature. She glanced again at Morgan.

Destruction was going to become his second nature.

He had sat down at a chair across from her and opened a book (the title being 'Golden Swords Bring Little Fortune'), so she took this moment to look at him clearly. His robes screamed Plegian and were a little copy of her own, though she had noticed that not many of these robes had been seen in this world. Not many were tacticians exclusively, she had concluded, though the gloves he wore were definitely not one with the outfit. Knowing little about him, he might as well just enjoy the look of it, even if the heat is unbearable. 

What else was unbearable was his hair.

Why was it that colour? Wretched blue, blue that stank of dirt, mud, righteousness, a _disgusting blue_. Cerulean blue was absolutely filthy, it was a colour only self-absorbed goody-two-shoes who get knighted titles such as hero have! Disgusting. Her rage boiled inside her veins, and she was freshly reminded of her purpose; destroy the thing that stupid hero loved most, worked towards most. Eradicating the future he tried so very hard to protect would be infinitely satisfying, though why did he have the gall to reproduce? As if it wasn't bad enough that she was sealed for too long, she had to be confronted by the most insulting colour of them all; blue! Ridiculous, and frankly she was sick of it. Whoever Morgan's father was, she hoped that he would die from a betrayal so deep that it affected the rest of his future generations. Though, a question had come to her. Who was Morgan's father? Assuming that this body had a child previously, she was infinitely curious as to who had the audacity to lay with a god's vessel.

"Morgan." At her voice Morgan's head whipped up.

"Yes, Mother? What could I do for you?"

"You've claimed that I'm your mother, correct? So, who is your father? Surely you'd know this." 

Morgan visibly gulped, though he tried to hide it. Grima narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but this was a question to sate a passing folly, nothing more, nothing less.

"I'm… I'm not actually sure about that…" He had put the book down and averted his eyes. "I don't exactly remember it."

"So I am to believe that you retain memories of me being your mother, which I cannot even recall, but about nothing else? I do not like being played for a fool, boy." Her tone grew dark and menacing, clearly not happy. Morgan, as if he was ignoring that viciousness of how he was addressed, smiled widely.

"You don't remember? I guess amnesia runs in the family!" At that, Grima had half the mind to cock an eyebrow but shoved the information into the recesses of her mind. Whether or not her vessel's memory had been altered was not something that was necessary, details were irrelevant. Well, details she didn't bother asking for.

She huffed as if she said 'whatever' and returned to her work, which happened to be a working draft of her plans. In front of her lay a map (not an expansive one, but the best the Grimleal could take --which was pathetic), and she was pondering on her next course of action. That fool of a king was being freely and subtly manipulated by a Grimleal agent, which definitely was advantageous, though he had a streak of disobeying/resisting. Still, she concluded, he is a liability and can be easily replaced by someone who will be obedient. She had people who would cause trouble near the border of Plegia and Ylisse, simple creatures who served well as distractions and fodder. Her eyes glazed over to Ylisse. From what she was told, the leader of these people was an Exalt, who also served as the human embodiment of peace (absolute rubbish --humans are selfish and terrible inherently, and to claim differently is an act of deliberate ignorance). Validar had informed her that if one was to strike Ylisse, the Exalt should be eradicated. That would be an appropriate course of action, but she knew better. If Validar went to assassinate the Exalt, those stupid protectors of hers would foil his plans then when she eventually died, Plegians would suddenly have a change of heart. Grima would not have that once more.

She pondered the possibility still, however. The situation could change if she was there, personally. After all, she had considerable presence on the battlefield and could actually succeed. Validar and her had rather low profiles in Ylisse, which could prove to be fatal for both her and the Ylisseans, though she had no doubt that if she did go, she would be recognized by the guards if seen again.

_Not if I killed them before they could report. Dead men tell no tales, after all._

Suddenly, she turned her gaze onto Morgan, who was now sleeping comfortably. This assassination attempt could also be a test, to prove that he was willing to be useful, willing to kill. It would do her no good to keep him around for nothing as that was a waste of resources and time, so he would have to prove himself. If he could kill at least one of the opponents, she would consider extra training and honing, even if the mission turned into a failure and the Exalt still lived. Of course, the idea of failure would mean that their identities were revealed, Morgan could possibly die and ruin the entire mission and the Exalt could still live afterwards. Though, these 'cons' were not exactly something of import. She smiled. Perhaps a little trip to Ylisse would give her a bit of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i was gone for way too long haha! Sorry about that, I was caught up in a lot but I should be back in running order!
> 
> EDIT: what a lie that was lads


End file.
